


Bees and Flowers

by candyvan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (◡‿◡✿), Code Words, Double Dating, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, cheesy Nicholas Sparks movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyvan/pseuds/candyvan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Scott and Stiles are forced to go on a double date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bees and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milominderbinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/gifts).



> There isn't really any point to this beyond me wanting to talk about Scott loving Stiles.

It's not that Scott and Stiles have gotten old, or anything. They're aren't like those fifty year old couples who have missionary position sex once a month with the lights off.

No, he and Stiles have a very healthy sex life. Some might even say too healthy. The support group for people who have walked pass the jeep in the middle of the day and had the absolutely pleasure of seeing Stiles' naked ass pressed up against one window and Scott's sweaty palm print on the other side would be the first in line to elect them for mandatory sex addicts support groups.

It's not like they can't keep their hands off of each other or anything, except they really can't. Seeing Stiles with grass stains and sweat wetting his hair just seems to do something for Scott that it hadn't months ago, before Stiles scored a lacrosse goal that won them the championships and Scott couldn't help himself from tackling the boy to the ground and kissing the life out of him. During practice, the adrenaline that curls under Stiles' skin smells like life and joy and it makes Scott want to push Stiles up against the nearest flat surface and lick him.

They used to do it in the locker room after everyone cleared out, hard and fast in the shower stalls with Stiles biting his lips to keep from groaning out, but then Greenberg kept 'accidentally' walking in on them and Stiles wouldn't stop complaining about what a pervert the guy is, so they managed to keep their hands in plain sight until they got to the Jeep where all bets were off. Really, it was the pedestrians fault for looking into the car, Stiles often grouches petulantly.

As much as Stiles likes the chaos and spontaneity of a blow job between classes or a quickie during lunch, he also likes order. He says it's his pills, the Aderall working better if he's not constantly hustling around and Scott accepts it because he knows that Stiles sometimes needs a schedule to keep him on track and it if means he gets an hour devoted to touching Stiles every Saturday night then he's really not complaining.

They don't always have sex though, despite the time slot saved into Stiles' phone that reads “CRAZY SEX EXTRAVANGANZA”. Sometimes they just watch movies or Scott will help Stiles bake cookies, sometimes they'll work on homework or read comics, and sometimes they'll sit around for an entire hour poking each other and asking boredly what the other wants to do.

Tonight's definitely supposed to be a sex night though. Scott's sure of it. Stiles kept touching him all day, brushing a hand along his shoulders or letting his legs drape across Scott's lap whenever they sat near each other. Knows it because Stiles winked at him from across the table as he ran a foot up Scott's calf while calmly discussing events going on around Beacon Hills with a clueless Sheriff Stilinski over their traditional Saturday night dinner.

Scott isn't very impressed by the display, but he's worked up and excited and wants to kiss that grin right off of Stiles' smug face, practically can't wait for John to leave so he can get his hands on Stiles hips and thrust against him.

Which is why he's so incredibly surprised when he hears the unmistakable engine of Allison's Honda, the break squeaking as it parks in the driveway of the Stilinski house. Scott tenses, scents the air for any sort of threat or blood or bad omen, but all he can smell is the familiar tang of Allison's perfume and the mint gum Lydia smacks between her teeth.

From what Scott can hear, they're in a pretty passionate debate on the merits of adding extra butter to popcorn; Allison is in a firm opinion that it is the only reason why paying thirteen dollars for a movie ticket is okay in any universe, and Lydia is huffing about carbs and transfat and yellow dye #6 showing up in far too many cancer studies to be safe.

Stiles, noticing Scott's sudden tense posture, eyes him warily across the table, eyebrow raised and foot stilled from its warm trail up Scott's leg.

“Lydia and Allison are here?” Scott tells Stiles, phrasing it like a question, watching as his boyfriend's face grows pinched.

Sheriff, still growing used to Scott's werewolf abilities, jumps and looks around the kitchen as if the two girls have appeared out of thin air. When he doesn't find them he pauses, seems to remember that his son is dating a creature of the night, and sighs very loudly to the half eaten pasta resting innocently on his plate.

“Uh, no. No they are not, Scotty,” Stiles says, even as Lydia knocks on the door while telling Allison that throwing chocolate into the popcorn tastes far better anyway, “Tonight's Lydia and Allison's date night. I promise, they're nothing but a figment of our collective imaginations.”

The door knocks again, faster and less patient and Stiles holds up a hand to still John from getting up to answer it.

“Shhh,” he whispers slowly, “If we ignore them, they'll go away.”

Scott grins affectionately at Stiles, torn between wanting to cuff him around the back of his head or throwing rose petals into the air and confessing his undying love for him, as the sheriff rolls his eyes, “Now I know I didn't raise you to be this rude. Scott, did I raise him to be this rude?”

Scott's reply is immediate, “No sir.”

“Traitor,” Stiles hisses at him.

Scott very pragmatically does not bring up how Stiles has brought Melissa coffee on his way to school every day for the past three weeks. He does, however, stick his tongue out at him, because Stiles can't think he's going soft.

John lets out an amused chuckle as he stands, and only through sheer power of will does he ignore the obnoxious facial expressions Stiles and Scott trade with each other to convey exactly how lame they each think the other is. Scott only barely keeps the dopey smile off of his face, chest warming as he watches Stiles flail at him in something that he thinks means _'you're the worst, why do I love you, you giant bag of dicks?'_

So lost in each others eyes, the boys don't notice they have company until someone clears their throat. Stiles and Scott immediately jump and turn to face Lydia, managing to look both amused and annoyed as she scowls at them and Allison, full out grinning at them and fingers twitching like she's fighting the urge to pinch their cheeks.

“I knew you two dating was a horrible idea,” Lydia sighs, long suffering, “If anything, you both have gotten even more weird.”

Allison butts her hip into Lydia's, still smiling, “Shut up. Last night you wouldn't stop talking about how cute you think they are.”

Both boys blush at that and Scott coughs, trying to get rid of the embarrassed choke building in his throat. They've only been official for three weeks, despite having been swapping bodily fluids for two months. They both just didn't think it was a thing that they needed to tell people, especially since it didn't change all that much about their relationship. Sure, they touched more often and Stiles grabbed his butt when people were looking, and sometimes Scott would hold Stiles' hand when they were driving or cut him off in the middle of a long winded rant to kiss him, but Scott and Stiles have always been closer than the average teenage boys.

When they were fourteen, Sheriff caught them cuddling on the couch and tried to explain for half an hour that them dating is perfectly fine, which was mortifying for an entire limbo line of reasons and, when the two had finally managed to convince him that they were not, in fact, dating, he explained that most teenagers don't like to have half of their body on top of their best friends for three hours. Stiles simply said he felt bad for all of those poor souls and went back to resting his head on Scott's shoulder.

Stiles snorts at her, “Sorry we don't all make the transition from best friends to power couple as well as you two do.” Lydia rolls her eyes, mouth opening and a rant on her lips, but Stiles is quick to cut her off, “Why are you even here? Don't you guys do date nights?”

Scott tries not to laugh at how upset Stiles sounds, wants to grab him and kiss him as that familiar whining tone enters his voice. Stiles' legs stretch out below the table, ankles hooking around Scott's in a familiar warmth. His nose twitches as Stiles' arousal thickens in the air, throat bobbing and his own body stirring with excitement.

He hopes the girls leave soon. He loves his pack, seriously, but sometimes he just wants to live in a little bubble with Stiles and pretend the world doesn't exist, that he isn't an alpha werewolf with responsibilities and lives on his shoulders. Scott feels bad for thinking that sometimes, but then he catches Stiles staring at him when the world is quiet, eyes soft and mouth tilted in concern, and he's sure that Stiles thinks about hiding away with him too.

“Our double date skipped out on us,” Lydia sighs as she studies the ends of her hair, meticulously checking for split ends, “Honestly, can't people save breaking up for Mondays?”

Scott makes a mental note to talk to Harley on Monday, frowning to himself. He really thought her and Caitlin had been doing well so far, but maybe it had been too soon for her to start dating again. Stiles makes a considering noise in the back of this throat, mind on the same track as Scott's. They share a significant look, already plotting to meddle and see if the girls are okay.

Allison grins apologetically, “We know this is last minute, but we already have the tickets and don't feel like spending the night pretending to like any other couples.”

Stiles scoffs, leg bouncing against Scott's, “I'm feeling very used.”

“We were kinda planning to have a night in,” Scott shrugs, cheeks coloring again as Lydia gives him and Stiles a quick once over, nose crinkling at the implications. He thinks he hears the Sheriff's heart rate speed up from the living room and briefly considers using his claws to bury himself beneath the floorboards

“You guys never do anything with us! Seriously, all you two have done for the past few weeks is touch each other.” Allison frowns, considering, “I think Isaac is getting lonely.”

Stiles shrugs, uncaring, “Well I'm sure as hell not inviting him in for a threesome if that's what you're getting at.”

Scott chokes on his tongue at the same time that the Sheriff yells about wanting to get to the station early. Stiles waves impassively at his father as he leaves, the only one in the room not reeking of secondhand embarrassment, and Scott's not sure if he admires that or not.

It's quiet for a minute, Stiles leaning back against his chair looking too cocky, eyebrow raised in Lydia's direction as if not being ashamed of sex in front of his dad is cause for him becoming a god. Scott scoffs. The look becomes less powerful once he's seen Stiles do it after managing to catch himself tripping up the stairs.

“You're coming with us,” Lydia finally demands. Her eyes are hard, face tilted in a familiar expression and Scott remembers Lydia from before, demanding he play Lacrosse or else she would set Allison up with another guy. The smirk on her face is almost an exact replica and Scott finds himself sighing.

Stiles reply is immediate and determined, face still smug like he's won something, “No, we're not.”

Twenty minutes later finds Scott holding two buckets of popcorn and Allison looking between red vines and whoppers with a frown on her face.

“Do you think Lydia has anything against red dyes?” She asks, skimming the back of the package.

Scott shrugs and stops his mission of trying to get a piece of popcorn in his mouth like a frog when he senses Allison looking at him. “I don't know,” he says, “She's your girlfriend.”

Allison rolls her eyes, “She's on this new health kick. Apparently she's watched thirty documentaries about animal farms and what happens to processed food last night?”

Scott's only really cared about what happens to his food when he thought he might have eaten a rabbit raw, so he doesn't really have anything to say to that. He nods at the packet of whoppers in her hands, “She was talking about chocolate earlier, right?”

Allison makes a face, “Yeah, but then I'll have to put them on my popcorn.”

“The sacrifices we make for love,” Scott shrugs with a grin.

Things with Allison aren't as weird as they should be, Scott thinks. For two people who went through more emotional trauma in the course of their relationship than most people suffer in their lives, they're strangely well adjusted. It's hard to imagine how in love he used to be with Allison when he has Stiles. He thinks she feels the same way, watching as her eyes look past him to her girlfriend.

Lydia and Stiles bickered the whole car ride over, talking in some strange new code that Scott and Allison haven't been able to crack yet. They do it sometimes, slipping into a language of their own like they share a brain, leaving Scott and Allison to watch in amused confusion from the sidelines.

Right now, they're talking about bees and flowers, and Scott watches as Stiles' long limbs flail and gesture as he discusses the mechanics of bees pollinating seasonally.

Lydia says something about allergies and Allison rolls her eyes, “God, they're so weird.”

Scott can't help but agree, “Why do we put up with them, again?”

Allison reaches over and steals a handful of popcorn, winks at him, “They're pretty good in the sack. Not hard on the eyes, either.”

Scott hums thoughtfully as Lydia talks about flowers wanting aisle seats, “Stiles makes pretty good cookies, too.”

Allison shrugs in acceptance, seemingly happy to have come up with good enough reasons for their lapse in sanity. Scott pays for the snacks, because even though neither he or Stiles particularly want to see The Vow, it wouldn't be fair to let Allison and Lydia pay for their entire evening.

They walk over to their dates together, only stilling when they hear Lydia's annoyed, “Well, frankly, that's disgusting and the flowers don't want the bee's pollination anywhere near them.”

Scott and Allison exchange a look, sighing in unison as Stiles scoffs, “The bees weren't even supposed to leave their hive tonight, alright? They had a very nice plan to make honey. The flowers are the ones who decided to pop in unannounced and demand they all go spend Spring in the meadow.”

Scott leans over to Allison and whispers, “Am I a bee or a flower?”

Allison shrugs, nose wrinkling, “What I want to know is who's the one being pollinated.”

They stand there for another five minutes, patiently waiting for their partners to acknowledge their existence, or at least start making sense. Neither happens, the conversation about bees and flowers getting even more in depth and confusing.

Eventually Allison checks the clock on her phone, sighs pointedly in the direction of Stiles and Lydia, and then grabs Scott's wrist and drags him to their theater.

The theater is dark and they have to stumble around almost completely blind to find seats. Luckily, the theater is mostly empty, only a few couples spread out here and there, all too wrapped up in the movie to pay Allison and him enough attention. It's ten minutes in by the time they find a good spot and get situated, snacks assorted to the right seats and sodas in the appropriate cup holders.

They clink their tubs of popcorn and begin eating, not all that concerned with their missing dates.

It's only a few minutes later that Stiles and Lydia wander in, both looking embarrassed while still managing to shoot angry looks at each other. Scott and Allison watch on in amusement as the two squint their eyes and try to find where they're sitting.

“Lydia's been wanting to see this since forever,” Allison whispers conspiratorially, “She's going to be pissed that she missed so much of it.”

Scott leans over her and steals a red vine, “Probably shouldn't have invited Stiles and I then.”

Allison laughs and it's highly inappropriate considering the tense, emotional moment playing out onscreen. The laughter draws Lydia to them instantly and she whacks out at Stiles with more force than strictly necessary before stomping over to their row.

Stiles frowns at the armrest on Scott's right and makes a show out of removing the drink from it, swinging it up, and plopping down in the seat. He quickly steals the tub of popcorn and before Scott can blink, he has legs in his lap. Stiles grins at him and Scott hates how warm he feels all over at the look, at the casual familiarity they have.

His hands find Stiles' ankle, stretching out from the cuffs of his jeans, and he rubs his thumb in circles around it, smiling as Stiles relaxes into the touch.

The movie is horrible. Scott pays more attention to Stiles whispering commentary than he does watching the tragic Nicholas Spark story play out on screen.

“If I had no idea who you were, would you try to get me to remember you?” Stiles asks, voice high and falsetto twinging with insincerity in his ear. A girl up front twists her head around to glare at them for ruining the touching moment.

Scott turns his head and pretends to stare soulfully into Stiles' eyes, flutters his eyelashes, and whispers, “I'd never give up until you loved me again.”

He says it with too much emotion, throat squeezing the words until they sound too deep for the joke to work, and he watches as Stiles' eyes widen, a hissed, “Fuck,” escaping his lips only seconds before Scott has a face full of Stiles.

He doesn't know how long they kiss for, lips bruising against each other until he's almost certain that Stiles is trying to claw his soul out through his mouth, when he feels popcorn pebble harshly against his face. He bats it away, continues kissing Stiles even as Lydia hisses, “Remember to breathe, you idiots.”

On screen, he hears one of the characters talk about falling in love, and Scott wants to pull away form the kiss to scoff, to scream out into the dark theater that there was never a moment where he fell in love with Stiles.

He never looked up on day and saw something different, never had a revelation about Stiles' hands, never got insanely jealous when Stiles waxed poetic about Lydia. There was never a moment where he looked over and thought with sudden clarity, “I love him.”

Falling in love with Stiles has always been a series of moments, every look, touch, and laugh added up in his heart faster than his brain could understand. It was slow, so slow he didn't even realize it was happening until the thought of being without his best friend was too much to bear.

Scott's always loved Stiles, from the minute they first met he was gone for this boy with moles and the sharp tongue, and he never questioned his undying loyalty or his affection until one day it was too much, too bright and loud and huge to be kept inside of him any longer and he couldn't stop it, couldn't ignore it anymore until it exploded.

He didn't fall in love with Stiles. He grew in love with Stiles. He didn't fall only to suddenly fly, he walked into it with Stiles' hand around his heart.

Scott spends the rest of the movie with his hand cradling Stiles' jaw, pretending nothing outside of them exist.

 


End file.
